Get On Down Here

Max is a flopper. Whenever someone starts petting him, it does not take long for him to flop on the ground, expecting the person to follow him down and continue the petting. Usually, this move flows right into Max rolling on his back, helping the person find his belly for a nice belly rub.

Max is already fairly low to the ground and his flopping only pulls the center of gravity of showing him love closer to the floor. Years ago, I spent a lot of time on the floor with him, petting or playing, especially those early years when he was still technically a puppy. We’d wrestle almost everyday until I was the one who flopped from being so tired.

These days I more often sit on the couch or a chair in the evening and when Max comes over for attention, I let my arm hang over the side. Max will usually still flop, and then I have to stretch as far as I can to continue petting him. In some ways, getting down on the floor with him was more comfortable.

Then, the other night I was working on my computer and heard Max flop down nearby. He looked more ready to fall asleep than wrestle, but something about the look in his eyes reminded me of the times I used to get down on the ground with him.

That moment was hard. It forced me to recognize how our life and rhythms have changed. Nothing has changed drastically, but now my evenings are more focused on kids and I simply get down on the ground with Max far less. I know this is normal and necessary, but it’s still a bit of a gut punch. 

And yet, Max’s look was not only conviction, it was also assurance. Max teaches me, night after night, that how we spend time together will change, and in many ways it is good. Max teaches me we haven’t limited the ways we play and enjoy each other’s company, rather we have expanded them. 

There will still be an occasional afternoon of extended belly rub on the floor or mild wrestling, but now he has also perfected holding his head up just high enough to reach my fingers over the side of the couch. We have learned to appreciate the moments where we are both on the back porch in the cool evening, resting and enjoying time together as he calmly lays down on the ground and I read or write these kinds of words about him.

At the same time, Max teaches me that however it can happen, it’s worth getting on down with those around us. He teaches me that life and love are hard to do on a high level. The better method is to move near others, get on their level, and be present with them. The specifics may change from time to time or person to person, but the root way of expressing loving care does not.

For Max, that means meeting him where he is, knowing just how far down he may be, and bending over at least a little to reach the world he inhabits. And Max has assured me that the same method works for others as well. Showing care is all about stepping into the other person’s world and shifting with it when their world shifts. It means creating and maintaining a space at the lowest common denominator of life, so that we can all share the love, no matter how often or how far we’ve flopped.

So, thank you Max for getting on down with me and letting me get on down with you. Thank you for teaching me how to maintain a sense of “on the ground” care no matter what changes in our lives.

Highs and Lows

It’s that time of year when we seem to be bombarded by extremes. Highs and lows (of temperature and emotions), sunshine and rain, hot and cold, rest and busyness, joy and pain (of body and heart), quiet and noisiness. Every moment of life is full of some variety of extremes, but during this little stretch of springtime, Max and I notice how powerful the fluctuations can be.

Sometimes Max is high, and sometimes he’s low:

Hey! What do you call a dog who builds an unstable fence? A rottwaller!

Ok, ok, even I admit that was cheesy. But I am curious, what do you call the dog who brings back the limbo stick after someone knocks it down? A limbrodor retriever! 

Sometimes Max is hot, and sometimes he’s cold:

It’s getting hot in here (so hot), so take off all your clo… wait a second. Some of us can’t just take off our clothes. The struggle is fur real. (Then again, some of us don’t need to shed any layers to look sexier.)

Ice, ice, baby. Dum dum dum da da dum dum. Ice Ice baby. Alright stop. When it gets this cold, our yard is one big snowcone! This spot is dirt and grass flavored. Don’t worry, I already licked up all the poop flavored spots.

Sometimes Max is lost, and sometimes he’s found:

I know this is a prime time to get ahead in life, but I just can’t seem to find mine…

Ah, there it is! Found my head. Wait a minute…oh no…nobody’s going to believe this tail.

Sometimes it is sunny, and sometimes it’s rainy:

Even the sun at its max can’t outshine me.

Cloudy or clear, I’m the only golden ray of light you need.

Sometimes Max is wild, and sometimes he’s calm:

Haey hoooooo!

Ooooooh yeah!

Max constantly teaches me that we all go through highs and lows. While sometimes we can look back at them humorously, like this post, sometimes they are much more serious. Max would never make light of anyone else’s highs or lows, only his own. And our heart goes out to all who are tossed about helplessly in the most extreme of situations.

With that in mind, Max has also taught me to seek some balance in the extremes of life. And if your highs and lows are more serious in this season, maybe Max’s goofiness can offer some balance. We’re all in this wild life together, after all.

So, thank you Max for sharing your highs and lows with me, and for helping me see a thread of joy weaving them all together.

Wait, wait, wait. You’re not telling everyone I’m high, are you?

Cozy

If Max knows anything, he knows how to stay cozy.

I guess it’s hard not to be cozy as a giant fluffball of never ending fur. 

I started thinking about Max’s coziness in the frigid weeks at the beginning of this month when he would calmly curl up on his dog bed to stay warm. When it got up to 80 degrees the first part of this week, Max left his coziness for romping around the backyard. But it looks like we’ll have at least a few more days of chilliness around here for Max to teach me more about being cozy.

First, Max has taught me that coziness is a process. Some days or nights he finds the perfect cozy spot right away. Some days and nights he journeys from one room to another, restlessly seeking the space he needs. Coziness may not be a given, but it is worth the search. At least, so it seems based on the satisfied noises Max makes when he finally finds what he is looking for.

He has also taught me that coziness is fleeting, but always attainable. Even with the weird hot spell, Max has taught me how to be cozy in all seasons. It’s easier to be cozy when things are calm and peaceful. When life gets busy and stressful, coziness is often the first thing to tuck away in the closet for another time.

Many evenings, Max eases next to me while I’m winding down and almost always manages to pull a bunch of head scratches out of me. In doing so, he has reminded me that there is some version of coziness to be found in all times, even the frantic ones. In all things, Max will make time to lay or sit near those he loves and enjoy their company. He will make time for rest and refreshment. No matter how much hair he has to shed, he will be cozy.

And ultimately, Max has taught me that coziness is about being comfortable with oneself, deeper than merely the surface level warmth. Max knows his value and fully embodies his goofball nature. For Max, coziness is about living out the core of himself and knowing he has a place in this world, no matter how weird or different he may be. 

I think much of his comfort with himself comes from the fact that he likely doesn’t have the same self doubt us humans do. But he is not alone in affirming his own worth. He knows he has an important place in our family because we show him every day. He is cozy with himself because we help him know he can be cozy and create a space for his coziness to flourish. 

Every day Max teaches me the importance of cultivating both self value and spaces for others to grow cozy in their self identity.

So, thank you Max for teaching me how to be more cozy at all times. Thank you for trusting me to create and maintain a space in which you can be cozy, in which we can all find better rest and know our value.

Just Your Average Max

Lately, my algorithm has been showing me videos of dogs doing incredible feats, followed by other dogs barely making it through the world. Something like this:

All these dogs bring me great joy. And, of course, they make me wonder where Max fits in. My first instinct is always to think about how Max is exceptional. I scan through my memory and photos trying to find anytime he made an amazing catch or leapt an impossible distance or heroically saved someone in danger. 

Sorry, Max, you’re not in that camp.

Then, I think about the other side of things. Was there a time Max bumbled into an obviously closed door or tried to no avail to move himself or couldn’t find what was obviously right in front of his face? Well, there was the time he slept like this:

Max is likely on the goofball side of the spectrum rather than the athletic side. But I don’t know that he’s ever done anything “America’s Funniest Home Videos” level goofy. He has his wild moments, but mostly he is calm. He’s healthy and active, but would be completely lost at any type of dog competition. 

Overall, Max is very average.

A part of me desperately wants him to be exceptional. I want to be able to tell other people that my dog did the most amazing thing! After all, he has this blog to inspire, so he better be more awesome than most dogs.

But Max knows he doesn’t need to be exceptional. He is more than content to be average. Max teaches me day after day that love and care are not exceptional. They are average and are far more important than great feats or great goofs. He shows me day after day that his average life is meaningful, and these posts are only the tip of the iceberg of proof.

Every moment average Max shares with us is meaningful, whether it’s sniffing that patch of grass until it has been sufficiently sniffed, or finding any free hand available to scratch his head. His may be an average life, but it is packed with adventure and joy and peace. Maybe not the deepest peace with two young kids rampaging around his house, but an average amount of peace, mixed with an average amount of chaos, to make a life worth living.

So, thank you Max for teaching me that being average is meaningful. Thank you for showing me the kind of love and care that sets no records, but does warm my heart everyday.

Inspiration (again)

Max and I have been at this blog thing for ten full years now. We started in January of 2014 with a post called “Patient Presence.” I cringe at some of those early posts, but I think we started out pretty strong.

In considering how best to wrap up 2023 and year ten of lessons from Max, I had the brilliant idea to do a post on how Max inspires me. I jotted down a few notes over the past several weeks, then when I sat down to write it out, I thought, “I might have used inspiration as a title and theme before.” So, I searched through the blog and sure enough I found a 2014 post called “Inspiration,” and a 2019 post called (you guessed it), “Inspiration.”

Needless to say, Max inspires me. I love what I did in 2014 with the inspirational posters (we might have to start selling those to pay for Max’s heartworm/flea meds). And I stand by the more sincere 2019 post of how Max breathes newness into my life.

Since I don’t want to repeat something I’ve already repeated once, I tried to pivot and write something different. I’m convinced Max has endless lessons to teach me, but, as is sometimes the case, I had a hard time putting something new into words. 

Fairly often I get stuck in this way, staring at the computer screen wondering what in the world Max has taught me recently. When I get really stuck, I look through old pictures, hoping to spot a theme. Sometimes it works, sometimes I’m left better for having looked through many pictures of Max, but I have no words to offer.

This time it did not work. Then, when I got fed up with the whole thing and finally shut my computer, Max taught me something about…inspiration. It all finally clicked, as it so often does, when I stepped away from my computer and stopped trying to force something out. Max knows the inspiration is out there with the birds and leaves and sunshine, so he pulled me outside to walk through the world. One simple moment of letting my brain rest and be present opens it up to the endless lessons swirling around us. 

Max has taught me that while inspiration cannot be forced, it is all around us. He has reminded me of something another friend once told me, that inspiration is like a gift delivered to your door. And he has taught me that the best way to access it is to get out of my self-perpetuated little bubble of existence and experience something new. Max is so wise, isn’t he?

I’m sure I’ve had this revelation before and it’s probable the lesson is recorded in another post from the past ten years. If it is, so be it. Max is an inspiration and a revelation. I’m better for having followed and paid attention to him. And I’m grateful for every time he has led me out into the world in order to experience something new (or new enough to feel fresh again). 

That timpani player tho!

So, thank you Max for countless times you have inspired me (it’s at least three recorded times now, but you know what I mean). Thank you for the recurring reminders and the fresh insight you lead me to. Here’s to another year of inspired lessons!

Heads or Tails

Max is a complex individual. Sometimes he likes having his head scratched, sometimes his tummy.

Just kidding, he really is far more complex than that. Odds are I have simplified him and his life through writing about him. I tend to focus on his chaotic energy when going for walks or his bottomless pit of a stomach and the corresponding desire to eat anything he can find. These features are certainly true, but I am often reminded that Max is more than a shedding, scavenging, compassionate goofball.

Just the other night we put on the movie Fantasia. While the kids were asking a million questions, I looked over and saw Max calmly attentive to the serene music and captivating colors. Maybe he was simply zoning out or imagining he was in the calm, quiet world of his fantasies, but I like to think there are many different sides to Max: the run around and chase after squirrels side and the contemplative, enjoying classical music side.

I know there is at least a side of Max that loves attention. He always bothers guests endlessly for pats and tummy rubs. And I know there is the side of Max that craves time to himself. Some nights and mornings I have to look in every room of the house for where he is hiding to make sure he is not left outside all day or all night. There is the side of Max always ready for adventure and the side willing to sit with anyone who is sick or sad.

Max has a head and a tail, literally and symbolically – multiple, sometimes contrasting, aspects to his personality and presence in the world. Through his own complexity, Max has taught me to look for and value the complexity in everyone around me. No human is a stereotypical, one dimensional character. We all have heads and tails, metaphorically. We all have joys and sorrows, serenity and chaos, doubts and certainties swirling within us.

I think my relationship with Max is only made better when I am open to his complexity. When I don’t try to narrowly understand him as one type of thing. And Max has taught me the same applies to all my relationships.

At the same time, I see the consistency holding Max’s complexity together. He may have a head and a tail, but they are both sides to the same dog. Observing Max’s consistent traits helps me understand him just as well as paying attention to his diverse qualities. And thankfully Max is consistently loving and gentle and joyful.

Max has taught me to look for the consistent qualities in the people around me along with the diversity. Observing the complexity helps me have some compassion with myself and others – recognizing one action is not the fullness of who I am and may be shared out of a sense of pain. Observing the consistency helps me know whether or not to include that person closely in my life, because there are some consistent traits that are simply not healthy or helpful. And when I see some of those unhealthy consistencies emerging in me, I can work on flipping the coin and cultivating other, kinder, more loving dispositions.

This is one of the harder lessons from Max for me to live out. It is hard to be open to more of a person than I initially see or hear – to live in the fuzzy realm of complexity. It is just as hard to make firm decisions about whether or not I want a certain kind of consistent trait in my life, or how I can develop consistent traits that are beneficial to myself and the world around me. But the more I try to see both, the more I see the beauty in who Max is and who the people around me are.

So, thank you Max for showing me so many complex sides of who you are and for sharing your consistent loving presence with me. Thank you for challenging me to be open to the complexities around me as well as being aware of the consistent truths we all live out.

Howloween 2023

When Max first patiently (albeit warily) donned a silly hat in 2014 and waited for me to take a picture, he had no idea the beautiful weirdness he would have to endure. Well, we’re at it again, for the tenth time. That’s right, welcome to the 10th Edition of Howloween!

Without further a-boo, I offer this little treat (or trick!):

Spider max, spider max, doing whatever a spider max does.

This sassy, silly “Max” hatter is ready to spill the tea!

Nerd alert! Don’t make this Dungeon Maxster mad, he might just notice an ancient red dragon off in the distance, headed straight for your party. All tricks, no treats in this game.

Who needs fairly odd (or fairy god) parents when you have a fairly odd pet? (You just thought I was gonna say fairy dog mother, didn’t you?) 

You’ve heard of the Easter bunny, but what about the Wester doggy? He sniffs out any leftover eggs the tiny humans leave and repackages all the candy about this time of year. It’s quite the trick.

A week shy of 84 dog years old, Max has reached babushka status. Now how do I sign him up for pet-icare?

It’s max-zilla! Run away!

Happy Howloween from your friendly neighborhood slobber hero!

And don’t forget to relive all the magic from Howloweens 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, and 2022!

Creepy

Max is ready for the spookier seasons of the year.

He assumes this pretty creepy pose almost every night when he is ready to be let in from the backyard. I know he doesn’t realize how eerie it looks to us, but the first time I looked up at the back door and saw his fuzzy head floating in the dark and peering in, I was legitimately scared.

Now I look forward to it every night. I think the image of Max being a little bit weird is perfect. He is not a scary presence, but he is sometimes a creepy one, a weird one. Max is a goofball and an odd duck.

And Max has taught me an important daily reminder about how good it is to be weird, different, unique. He is a purebred Golden Retriever. He looks like other light haired goldens and he has the same playful energy as most retrievers, but he is still utterly unlike any other dog. He hardly ever goes in the water, like most of his species, and at dog parks he has most often wandered the perimeter or sought attention from people rather than play with the other big dogs.

I, like most humans, naturally categorize and set expectations based on those stereotypes. Then Max bumbles through the living room or refuses to fetch a ball and reminds me that every creature is unique. Every creature is lovable in their own weird way.

In the loneliness of my own weirdness, Max teaches me to be true to myself, no matter how odd I may come across. I think Max is a champion of weirdos, and would gladly be a mascot for oddballs. He knows it can be lonely to be the only one more concerned about smells along the fence than about beating all the other dogs to the ball. But he also knows the value of being true to himself and finding connection through that authenticity.

Max has taught me that uniqueness need not feel creepy or strange, like a set of eager eyes looking in through a darkened window. After all, every one of us is different in our own right. No two people or groups of people think exactly alike or act along the exact same motivations and hopes. And Max is a prime example of how the difference is not really creepy. It is wonderful and beautiful and makes our shared life together that much more complex and meaningful.

And so, Max has taught me to value my own weirdness, along with his, and everyone else’s. He has taught me to be slow to judge and categorize, because things are not always what they seem. Floating dog heads in the dead of night are not necessarily scary. They can also be goofy or anxious or eager. Whatever they are, they are real and authentic and unique – an important part of the life we all share.

So, thank you Max for being your weird, goofy self. Thank you for reminding me of the value of the uniqueness every one of us expresses.

Night Dog

When the sun starts going down and the world begins to cool off, one creature of the evening jumps into action: Night Dog!

Not to be confused with Max, his mild mannered, some might even say lazy, alter ego of the daytime, Night Dog is here to sniff out whatever is fishy, bark up only the right trees, and take a reasonably pleasant walk around the neighborhood.

Ok, maybe Night Dog is not the action-packed superhero to inspire the masses. He has stopped no crimes except fashion crimes, and he really only does the same things he used to do in the afternoon, but now a little later in the day.

Max and I have spent most of the past month shifting our schedules later, so that we can have a daily walk and not bake our brains or burn our paws. Neither of us likes to change such things, Max because he is eager to get out there and explore, me because it means pushing the whole evening rundown later, often not walking Max until all the kids are ready for bed. 

We are both ready for things to cool off so the rest of the family can join us again and so we can have a pleasant walk.

And yet, Night Dog has taught me some super lessons in our unrelenting fight against the dreaded heat wave. He has taught me that kindness to ourselves and each other is perhaps an even greater feat than saving the world. 

Though it is less convenient, walking in the evening is a kindness I can offer Max. We could both make it in the late afternoon if needed, but we are miserable by the end. And there is nothing heroic about toughing out avoidable suffering. Rather, the act worth pursuing is making sure Max’s paws are safe and he stays cool enough in all that fur. 

My instinct is always to push through the pain instead of looking for another way. Perhaps it is due to being brought up in a culture that values toughness and grit rather than compassion and communal support. Maybe it is due to celebrating superheroes who fix everything by their own strength rather than trusting in those around them and finding more creative ways to solve problems rather than head on.

Night Dog is teaching me to question what I’ve always thought was strength, heroism, valor. He is teaching me to practice instead the strength of communal support, the heroism of creative solutions, and the valor of kindness above all. Night dog has whisked me away down a back alley I never knew existed in order to show me those who inhabit the world differently from me, and who often suffer because of it. Those who need, now more than ever, communal support, creative solutions, and kindness. 

As I try to share these heroic acts now with a goofy dog who loves walks but could be really harmed by the heat, I am also inspired to follow this new hero’s lead in practicing kind strength in all my life. Maybe the real way we save the world is stepping out of established norms and adapting to the best ways to show kindness to those who are suffering around us. 

Plus, my new walk time with Night Dog Max allows us both to see many more beautiful sunsets, another kindness to our souls.

So, thank you Max, aka Night Dog, for teaching me the strength of kindness and for showing me a better example of being a hero.

Hot Take

As far as I know, Max has had only two hot takes his entire life.

First: Where in the world are these little humans coming from?

Second: Time is an artificial human construction. Are you really going to make me wait until 4:00 to eat? You know there’s not really any such thing as 4:00. Just help us all out here and dish out the food.

Max does not have many scorching, shallow responses to the current issues of our world, because, well, he is a dog. Being a dog means he is not on Facebook or X/Twitter, the hotbeds of hot takes, and he doesn’t even know what is going on in the world. Max doesn’t get caught up in misogynistic complaints about the Barbie movie (though I have no doubt he absolutely supports the movie), he doesn’t feel the need to spew his half-informed ideas about politics, and he doesn’t care at all about reality TV.

But most importantly, Max does not have hot takes because his entire life has a different centering point than most the rest of us.

Max doesn’t feel a need to prove himself or force his opinions on other people. He knows his intrinsic value and respects that every other being around him has intrinsic value, except squirrels. They are a plague upon his perfectly maintained backyard kingdom.

Ok, maybe I’m reading into Max’s persona some, but I am confident of one reason he offers a chill response to a reactionary culture – Max lives in the moment. He is present and open and eager to know the people who come in and out of his life. Such presence of mind, body, and soul keeps him grounded. 

He may force his fuzzy head into your lap, but he won’t force any unsolicited opinions onto anyone, because the attention Max desires is not a flash/bang kind of attention. He cares far more about a real connection and a head rub that will last until your fingers cramp.

I don’t mean to glorify Max’s naivete. Retreating from the world can be as problematic as trying to force it to bend to one’s simplistic views. I want and need Max to have a quick, insightful response to a kid crying or another creature in need or a pest which needs to be taken care of. I don’t want Max or anyone else to shy away from calling out societal ills, especially in witty, punchy ways.

I simply want to learn what I think Max is trying to teach me. I can cultivate a mindset grounded in the art of being present and peaceful. Max is teaching me that I don’t have to react to everything I notice, though I should deeply consider it. He is teaching me that perhaps I can enjoy and value myself and others more fully when I ignore the hot takes and open myself to the people and things that actually matter around me.

So thank you Max for showing whatever restraint you muster in keeping all your hot takes to yourself. Thank you for teaching me the value of being grounded in the moment and not trying to force any half-baked thoughts onto others.